


Advisor to the King

by copperbadge



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: F/M, Identity Issues, Identity Porn, M/M, Magic Revealed, Minor Character Death, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-24
Updated: 2010-10-24
Packaged: 2017-12-13 11:06:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/823601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/copperbadge/pseuds/copperbadge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur is king, and change is in the wind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Dove and Jenny for betas!
> 
> Please note this story was set after S3, so does not incorporate canon beyond that. There are brief mentions of character deaths which were not canonical by the end of S3 (Gaius, Uther, Morgana).

Uther Pendragon died when his son, Arthur, was twenty-six years old. Arthur ascended the throne in the strength of his youth, and the full measure of his mourning. As was always meant to be.

Merlin thought it was rubbish. A man in grief had no business ruling, so as the king's servant he made it his business to see things were attended to properly. It made him indispensable, but it also kept him quite busy; they were exciting times, and before he'd noticed it an entire year had passed.

Arthur was sleeping nights again, eating like a king ought to, and he smiled and laughed where he hadn't, for a long time. He thought before he acted, as much as Arthur ever did. Merlin was well pleased with the prosperity of the kingdom, the general trend of Arthur's subjects to adore him, and Arthur himself. He began to let Arthur rule, really rule, and if Arthur complained about Merlin's nattering and all the boring functions of being a king, well, that was just him adjusting to the role now that he had adjusted to losing his father.

Merlin had quite enough to be going on with himself, between running the castle and running after Arthur, even with Gwen's help. At the end of the day he tended to collapse on his cot in Arthur's antechamber and sleep the just sleep of the deserving.

Life was becoming easier for Merlin, but not by a whole lot.

***

"I've told you a dozen times, Merlin," Arthur said that evening, as Merlin sat by the antechamber hearth with a boot-brush in one hand and a grease-box between his feet, "I have a boy for that."

"Yes, and that is me," Merlin answered, scraping mud off the sole of Arthur's boot.

"Look, you're no longer the country bumpkin servant my father foisted off on me," Arthur said. Merlin grinned as he began to rub grease into the creases across the toes. "You don't need to scrub my boots."

"I don't mind it, honest," Merlin said, rubbing industriously. "It's soothing. Helps me put my head in order."

Three years ago -- even a year ago -- Arthur would have met that with _How hard can it be? There's not much in it,_ but things were different now. Merlin could smell it the way he scented magic every now and then, circling Camelot, waiting patiently to be let back through the gates. Arthur was still in many ways a sullen boy, but he listened. That made all the difference in the world.

"And what are you thinking of?" Arthur asked, settling himself next to Merlin at the fireplace. He bumped Merlin's shoulder with his own.

"Nothing in particular. That's why it's soothing," Merlin replied, casting him a small smile before he started on the heel of the boot.

"Come on, Merlin, speak your mind," Arthur said, just a hint of command in his voice. "You're thinking so loudly I can almost hear you."

"No, honestly, my head's one big empty echo chamber," Merlin said, giving Arthur really the perfect setup. Arthur ignored it.

"Is it Morgana again? Look, I miss her too, but those rumours come round every few months and they never come to anything. She doesn't want to be found, and after what she did to my father -- " Arthur chewed on his lip. "I miss who she was. Before. You know. I don't want her back in Camelot now."

Merlin ducked his head. "She's dead."

"How are you always so sure of that?"

"It's just a thing -- " Merlin set Arthur's boot down and raised his head, staring at the swords above the fireplace, exhaling. "No, you know what? I don't want to talk about Morgana."

"Fine, neither do I," Arthur agreed. "So? Then? What?"

"Do you ever think," Merlin said slowly, "about, you know, all the stories we tell each other, they're all about adventure and battles and stuff. Enchantments. Dragons stealing princesses and knights getting them back. Do you ever think that none of that's what it's really about?"

Arthur was silent for a while before he finally weighed in on this thought: "What?"

"I just think, you know, the real...stuff, like, all right..." Merlin sighed. "When we actually change things, most of the time I don't think it's in battle. I think people change things quietly, in little rooms. Like we are here. You and me, talking. I think this is where the world is shaped."

"You think so?" Arthur asked, contemplative. Sometimes it was funny, giving him something and watching his clever but not overly speedy brain wrestle with it. Tonight it was more fraught with nerves than usual. Only to be expected, but not easy.

"It just seems like that's where it happens, that's all," Merlin said, shrugging. He inhaled, and the words came out before he'd really gone over, one last time, the wisdom of this. "I think you should lift your father's ban on magic."

"What? Why?" Arthur demanded, turning and throwing a leg over the bench so he was straddling it, facing Merlin. "Why would I do that?"

"Because repression is never really the answer," Merlin replied, staring down at Arthur's boot. "Because not all magic is bad."

"Where are you getting this? Is someone feeding this to you?" Arthur demanded.

"You think anyone feeds me anything I don't want?" Merlin asked, more sharply than he usually addressed his king. "When I tell you something it's because I've seen it, because I know it's true. That's why you have me, to tell you the truth."

"Magic killed my mother," Arthur said, his voice low and dangerous.

"Your father drowned children for being magic," Merlin retorted. Arthur looked like he'd been slapped. "It's time, Arthur. Uther banned magic because he was hurt and frightened. Don't be like him. You're better than he was."

"If I lifted the ban on magic, every two-bit wizard for miles around would invade Camelot. It'd be chaos. I don't even know that the people would support it," Arthur said.

"Some are already here, Arthur. You know they still come here, and at least you'd know who they were. If you lifted the ban on magic, real magicians would come too," Merlin replied, soft, persuasive. "Witches and wizards with real power to offer you, loyalty too if you protected them. We could defend ourselves against other kings who _do_ \-- "

"Have I ever failed to defend Camelot?" Arthur asked, voice chilly. Merlin sighed.

"No. But it's been a near thing sometimes, and -- " he hesitated.

He was pretty sure Arthur wouldn't have him killed. He was almost as sure that if Arthur did come after him, he could get away and make it to the border before someone caught him. He was entirely sure he didn't want to live without his king.

"Well, the kingdom's ticking over pretty nicely," he said, after a tense moment. He picked up Arthur's other boot and began to scrub it. "You're kinging along, things basically work, and the castle runs itself more or less."

"What are you saying?" Arthur demanded.

"I'm saying if you hadn't had me you wouldn't have held Camelot. At least three times over," Merlin said, suddenly angry at Arthur's ignorance, furious with Arthur's unwillingness to see, because how could Arthur not have seen? All these years? He must have been willingly blind, and that scared Merlin more than anything else. "If you don't lift the ban on magic then I need to leave. I just want to make sure things don't fall apart when I leave because, believe it or not, I do care about Camelot. But I can't stay any longer, if you don't lift the ban."

Arthur withdrew, just a little, just enough to hurt; Merlin cut his eyes sideways, expecting disgust on Arthur's face. Expecting a blow, even. But Arthur just looked stunned, like he was still trying to work out why Merlin would leave.

"Are you enchanted?" Arthur asked.

"No," Merlin said, scornfully. "Don't you get it, Arthur? I'm a warlock. Those times things just _miraculously_ went our way? That was me. I've spent years defending Camelot with magic, and it's exhausting. Hiding is exhausting, and I'm done."

He scuffed the side of Arthur's boot, waiting for reply. Arthur shifted, almost as if he were nervous, and then he said the last thing Merlin expected: "When?"

"Since I was a child -- "

"No. When did you save Camelot, when I couldn't?" Arthur asked.

"Does it matter?"

"Of course it matters."

Merlin inhaled, trying to even remember the times he'd defended the prince, the king, the country with illicit skills. "Well. When the dragon attacked. I may have, you know, nudged him away from Camelot."

"Nudged," Arthur repeated.

"And when Cenred laid siege, remember all those skeleton soldiers? Stopped them," Merlin added. "I mean, there were a couple of others but it all sort of runs together after a while."

"We barely pushed Cenred back from the gates," Arthur said. "We couldn't have if we'd been fighting two fronts."

"Yeah, I know," Merlin replied. "I was there."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Arthur asked. Merlin gave him a dry look.

"Uther was on the throne. Ban on magic, remember? You could have me executed tomorrow if you wanted. Nobody'd bat an eye."

"Gwen would castrate me," Arthur said.

"You're the king. Have her killed too," Merlin said. Arthur sucked in a breath. "See? That's the road it puts you on, Arthur. So lift the ban, or have me executed or banished, or I go on my own."

He wasn't expecting Arthur to grab his wrist, or to slowly tug the boot out of his hand. Arthur just held him there in a solid grip; Merlin, for all he was no longer a boy, couldn't have pulled away if he'd tried. He sat there, looking at Arthur, wrist locked in Arthur's fingers.

"Show me," Arthur said. "Prove it."

"Why?"

"Because it'd be like you to pretend, just to get me to say yes," Arthur said. Merlin bridled, but he saw the truth of it; that did sound awfully like him.

He glanced at the fire, which was all but embers, and murmured, " _Cume her fyrbryne_." The fire flared up bright and sudden, sparks spitting out onto the hearthstone. Arthur started and tumbled off the end of the bench, and Merlin burst out laughing. He knew it wasn't right to laugh; it was mad laughter, not rational and probably not good, but one so rarely caught Arthur off guard.

Arthur bounded up, furious and embarrassed, and crossed his arms. "That's not funny."

"No, I know, I know," Merlin managed, schooling his features and wiping the corners of his eyes. "It's not funny at all, I know that. Believe me. I know it better than anyone."

Arthur pushed his lip out a little, a sign he was thinking. Merlin watched warily, ready to bolt if he had to.

"All those times I thought I saved Camelot..." he began.

"Well, really, did you ever think that?" Merlin asked. "I mean, most of the time you had knights and such helping out, and you know that. You never saved it single-handed."

"I didn't know I had magic helping me!"

"Would you have fought harder if you had?"

"Of course not! I always fight my hardest," Arthur said, insulted.

"So do I," Merlin replied. "This is where you prove you're your own king, Arthur. Maybe this is where you prove you're a good king. In a little room, in the dark, where nobody knows except me. You're the king. You decide my fate. That's fine and all, it's the way life is and I get that, but I'd like a decision."

"I wish I could ban pushy servants who are smarter than I am," Arthur said ruefully.

"I'm going to remember you admitted that," Merlin replied. "So? Waiting on an answer, your majesty."

Arthur let his arms fall, glanced at the merrily crackling fire behind him, and settled down on the bench again, hands clenched between his knees, hunched forward.

"I can't just say, ban's lifted, welcome all ye who enter with magic," he said. "It'd cause utter confusion. Riots. And there are bad people out there, it wouldn't be safe. Besides, my own knights -- some of them are my father's men, still. They'd never stand for it. You have to tell me how to do this, Merlin, I don't know how."

Merlin, very daringly, reached out and brushed a stray curling bit of hair off Arthur's temple. "Well, that's why you keep me around. If I show you how, you'll do it?"

"Yes," Arthur said, though it looked like it cost him something to say it.

"Because it's me, or because it's right?" Merlin asked.

"Happily," Arthur said, "it may actually be both."

Merlin gave him a fond grin. "Well, you got lucky this time, then."

***

Arthur's reforms swept through Camelot in the following months -- not just the gradual easing of the ban on magic but other reforms as well, on farming and sale of animals, on taxes and trials. People did come to Camelot, but not as many magical folk as Arthur had feared or Merlin had wished for. People came, ordinary people, because if a tax collector threatened your wife you could tell the king and he'd sack him. People came to Camelot because if they were accused of theft, they'd get a chance to defend themselves. And some did come because they were magic, because they'd never been to Pendragon's kingdom and wanted to see it for themselves, but more came to settle its rich farmlands. Merlin, neglecting his duties scandalously, took to riding out to see them, to talk with them and find if he could learn anything. Sometimes he taught, too.

The influx of laboring and landowning classes into Camelot -- or rather, their departure from other kingdoms -- drew attention from the surrounding kings. Very rarely was it welcome attention, but then that was only a matter of setting Camelot's superior strength of arms and surpassing strategy on those who threatened it. Arthur made peace with the insecure grey-hairs and the impetuous kinglings who protested in word only, but he showed no mercy to those who marched on his home.

Even in Camelot, the reforms did not always sit well with everyone. Some whispered that Merlin was behind them (quite true) and that he'd enchanted the king (patently false). Merlin's open displays of magic in the court, while reasonably restrained, were not acceptable to all of the knights, especially the older ones who were either loyal to Uther or fearful of change. Some, apparently, had _preferred_ drowning children.

Arthur might, with a son's steadfast faith, forgive his father's mistakes, but he couldn't brook continuing them. Still, it wasn't easy.

"I am sick to death of these -- these arseholes!" Arthur announced furiously, striding into his antechamber and slinging his cloak off, tossing it carelessly on the table. Merlin followed after, gathering it up calmly and hanging it on a hook. "Knights of Camelot should fear nothing!"

"I'm sure they only think they're protecting the kingdom," Merlin murmured, watching Arthur pace, waiting for the moment when he'd go still and thoughtful and Merlin could help him off with the ceremonial dress hauberk. "Sometimes people act afraid when really they're just being cautious for everyone's good. That's not the case here!" he said hurriedly, when he saw Arthur's expression. "I'm only saying..." he groped vaguely for what he was saying, and ended with, "...people are complicated."

"Why are you defending them?" Arthur asked incredulously, giving Merlin a disbelieving look. "They're talking about you, Merlin, when they say the reforms have gone too far. They think you've enchanted me, you know."

"Yes, I hear that quite often," Merlin said, attempting cheer. He did: whispered in corridors, occasionally spat in his face -- rumours carried to him by the kitchen servants and those who waited the lower tables. "It doesn't matter."

"It should matter!"

"But it's just stupid. Anyway, I've heard it all my life," Merlin replied. "At least now someone's trying to change things. Listen -- listen to me, Arthur," he said, catching Arthur's arm to stay his movement. "Before, people said this kind of thing, your _father_ said this kind of thing, and I couldn't do anything. On fear of death, Arthur, I couldn't talk. Now," he added, stepping back and giving Arthur another game attempt at a smile, "the king's talking for me. That means something."

"Not talking enough, apparently," Arthur snarled. "My knights, _my knights_ , whispering about you. Plotting about you."

Merlin let go of his arm. "Excuse me?"

Arthur tipped his head back, a classic tell that he'd said something he thought he shouldn't. "There was a plot on your life."

"A plot -- _excuse me?_ "

"Listen, I took care of it. But I had to expel Gaheris the Elder and two others besides."

"That's why you banished them?" Merlin asked. "Why wasn't I told?"

"Because I wasn't told until yesterday and there wasn't time before I threw them out of my kingdom," Arthur said. "And now the rest of them are closing ranks. They think I chose you over my own men."

"Well, didn't you?" Merlin asked.

"It was never a choice, Merlin, they were going to kill you!" Arthur shouted.

"Nah. I could've taken them," Merlin replied. Arthur gave him a stunned look, and then he laughed and tossed himself down into a chair. Merlin, cautiously, knelt at his feet and tugged his boots off, setting them aside. "You have to understand it's not really me they hate," Merlin continued. "They're just sad, and old, and frightened. They can't fight like they used to, and they can't fight magic at all. They served Camelot -- they did, Arthur," he insisted, when Arthur began to protest. "As best they knew how. Now they're not allowed to serve the only way they know how. I can see why I make them uneasy. I can see why we frighten them."

"That doesn't make it right," Arthur insisted. Merlin looked up at him.

"No. I suppose not. But at least you know that," he said. "They won't live forever, and they can't argue with you forever. For one thing, I never met someone more stupidly stubborn than you are."

"You watch your tone," Arthur warned, grinning.

"Oh, yes, sire, yes sire," Merlin replied, mock-obsequious, bowing and scraping.

"That's better," Arthur said grandly. Merlin stood up, offered him a hand and hauled him up too, turning him around by the shoulders so he could unbuckle his hauberk. Arthur dipped his right shoulder so Merlin could slide it off and lay it aside, the scale-plate gleaming in the dim light. Arthur tried to half-turn and Merlin turned him back, tugging on the laces of the thin underpadding.

"You know I'm different to them, right?" Arthur said.

"Course you are," Merlin agreed.

"I mean, I know I'm my father's son, but -- "

"Just..." Merlin shook his head, even though Arthur couldn't see it. "Stop. Please."

"Do you know the first time I really saw you as a person?" Arthur asked, turning this time -- Merlin let him, pulling the underpadding off his arms.

"I can't wait to hear this," Merlin muttered.

"I asked you if you thought I should marry for political ends. And you said, _I think you're mad, I think you're all mad, people should marry for love._ And a bunch of other stuff I didn't listen to," Arthur added, waving a hand. "But there you were, this...person, with beliefs and feelings and opinions about me, and I realised you always had been, and your opinions mattered to me. And..." Arthur stopped, then continued, "...that they might not have been very high opinions. I thought I ought to fix that."

Merlin began unlacing Arthur's shirt. Arthur lifted his chin.

"Well, that's nice of y -- wait a minute," Merlin said, stopping and stepping back. "That was _two years_ after I came here. What did you think I was before then?"

"Slightly dim," Arthur told him, and Merlin grabbed his shirt-laces and yanked. "Merlin!"

"It's a sign of how clever you are that you managed to stop being a spoilt brat for five minutes together and think of me as something more than ambulatory furniture," Merlin said. He let go of the laces and began undoing them again. "Though I suppose it's nice that you eventually got round to it."

Arthur shrugged off his shirt without Merlin's help, passing it to him to hang up. He unbuckled his belt and Merlin took the weight of the ornamental (but still very sharp) sword, wrapping the belt around it with the ease of years of practice and laying it on the table.

"What do we do?" Arthur asked. "I mean, I can argue with them forever, but they still won't see reason."

"Bring in new blood," Merlin said. "Listen, you don't need the nobility anymore. Not _just_ the nobility. You've got a solid population of would-be soldiers out there, plus a safe stronghold. The people like you -- well, they think you're a good enough king, anyway," he temporised. "They'll fight for you if you show them how. You don't need the private armies your father did."

"I don't need those private armies turned on Camelot, either," Arthur pointed out.

"Well, so, find the younger ones, get them in line, that'll keep their fathers from taking any direct action. See who comes out of the woodwork when you open it to the lower towns. Gwaine and Lancelot were both good solid contenders, neither of them had a noble upbringing. You could bring them back and make them proper knights, not just your eastern border guardsmen." Merlin smiled at Arthur: shirtless, beltless, just a man under all that ceremony after all. "Crowd out the ones who don't like the way you do things."

Arthur gave him a skeptical look. "The peasantry would fight?"

"If you trained them? Sure. Men and women both. This is their land. You're their king." Merlin's smile widened, because he knew the look he was getting now -- the one where Arthur, with all the imagination his father had wasted on fear, was picturing a possible future, the kind of future that would be worth all the work. Camelot, capable of defending itself on an hour's notice, a court of young knights who would trust Merlin just as much as their king -- the power and brilliance he could add to the glittering strength of his kingdom.

"It's a big dream," Merlin said softly. "It's a bigger dream than any king's ever had before. Don't you want to chase the really big stuff, Arthur?"

"If you hadn't sworn on my sword not to enchant me," Arthur said, "I'd start to agree with the others."

"Well. I swore not to use magic against you. Nobody said anything about words," Merlin reminded him.

"Why do you stay here?" Arthur asked. "You could have any court in any kingdom for the asking. Why here?" 

"Should be obvious, twit," Merlin said, and very, very slowly reached out, placing a palm over Arthur's heart. Perhaps a lesser man would have pulled away from the touch, especially since Arthur had only Merlin's word that there would be no magic between them. Arthur stayed still. "I stay for Camelot, because -- I, I stay for Camelot."

Arthur, with a sudden move, grasped Merlin's wrist and pulled it down, tugging him close. His other hand fixed against the back of Merlin's neck, bringing their foreheads together.

"I stay for you. Because I love -- I love Camelot," Merlin finished lamely. Arthur's eyes were closed. "Listen, I know a thing or two about destiny, and I was told -- "

"Shut up, shut up," Arthur snarled, and kissed him.

It was horribly awkward; Arthur's nose mashed against his cheekbone and Merlin bit down out of surprise, which made Arthur stumble back, hands still on him, pulling them both along a few steps until he regained his balance. And just like that, Merlin was pressed against Arthur's body, one of Arthur's arms around his waist, and the kiss was perfect. Of course it was, if Arthur knew nothing else he knew his own body and --

"Clothes," Arthur muttered, releasing his neck to tug painfully at the scrap of cloth tied around Merlin's throat. "Clothes, your clothes -- "

"What I was going to say about destiny -- " Merlin began, even as he was struggling to get his shirt off without breaking contact.

"Shut up about stupid destiny," Arthur commanded. "What is this -- stupid knot -- why do you even wear this thing?"

Merlin reached behind himself to untie the cloth at his throat, and Arthur promptly went to work on his shirt. Arthur was muttering about _get you something better_ and _show the whole court, I don't care_ and Merlin would have to deal with that in the morning, undoubtedly, because Arthur sometimes had the impulse control of a feral cat. Right now, however, Arthur had got his shirt off and was shoving him through the antechamber, into the bedroom.

"Oh, cold, so cold," Merlin yelped, as his feet touched the flagstones in Arthur's bedroom. He hadn't lit the fire in there yet; usually he did that and let it warm the room while he and Arthur sat in the antechamber and talked for a while, but obviously they'd got rather past the point of talking. Arthur was insistent and Merlin had reason to know he was entirely muscle and, yes, all right, Merlin wasn't quite so weedy as he'd been when he came to Camelot, but --

"Make me a fire," Arthur whispered, biting down on the side of Merlin's throat. There was a _fwoom!_ as fire flared to life in the hearth, and Merlin hadn't even meant to do that. He backed up until he was almost standing on the hearthstones and then gave Arthur a gentle shove to keep him there, keep them standing there and soaking up the heat as they kissed. Arthur kissed like he was leading a charge.

"In battle camps, when I was prince, after I was given a command," Arthur said, around a stinging bite on Merlin's lip, "there were men who -- I mean, it's traditional, even if there are camp followers sometimes it's better, it makes the men fight for each other, not just -- listen, do you know how this is done?"

Merlin, who was busy trying to get Arthur's trousers off (it usually wasn't this difficult, but then usually they weren't trying to climb into each others' skin while he did it) shook his head. "I did grow up on a farm," he managed.

Arthur laughed and ran his hand down the small of Merlin's back. "Not quite the same thing," he said. He pulled their hips together, and Merlin exhaled sharply and a stray thought crossed his mind that should have crossed it about five minutes before.

"Gwen," he said, and Arthur froze.

"What?" he asked.

"Gwen, there's Gwen, you love Gwen," Merlin babbled. "She's my friend, Arthur, I can't -- you shouldn't," he added, trying to pull away and getting precisely nowhere.

"There's nothing spoken between Gwen and me," Arthur said, cupping Merlin's cheek, speaking in the same voice he used to soothe nervous horses. Merlin felt he probably ought to object to that on some level. "I've made her no promises."

"But you will," Merlin answered. Arthur's eyes widened. "Come on, you know you will."

"But I haven't yet," Arthur repeated.

"Arthur..." Merlin shoved at his chest in frustration and Arthur let him go, stepping back; he wouldn't stop staring at Merlin's face. "Listen, promise me. When you do -- when there _is_ something spoken between you, we can't. I won't hurt her, Arthur, not even for you."

"I would never hurt Gwen," Arthur said, stepping close again but this time cautiously, arms held at his sides. "And I will never hurt you. So..." he ran a hand through his hair, spiking it up and disordering it, and Merlin felt an unwavering fondness well up in him. Arthur was thinking hard, and Merlin suddenly couldn't think at all.

"I'll make it right with her," Arthur said, finally. "I promise, Merlin, I'll make it right. Now can we _please_ go back to -- "

A part of Merlin, the part that years of concealment in Camelot had made cynical, wondered just how Arthur proposed to make this right, and whether it was a convenient lie; the rest of him trusted Arthur and wanted him badly enough not to care. He cut Arthur off with a kiss, pushing them both away from the fireplace and up against one of the posts on Arthur's bed. Arthur yelped in surprise.

"That was my _head_ ," he said, rubbing the back of it where it had thunked against the wood.

"I thought you were hard-headed," Merlin grinned, covering Arthur's hand with his own. " _Thurhhaele_ ," he said, gold flaring in his eyes. Arthur slid his hand away, leaving Merlin's to cradle his head, and kissed him. "Feel better?"

"Much, thank you," Arthur replied. It seemed to have calmed him down, anyway; he locked his arms loosely around Merlin's hips and just kept kissing him, a little gentler than before. Merlin could feel Arthur's body from chest to leg, though, and he could feel Arthur's arousal against his thigh.

"Let me," Arthur murmured into his mouth. "Let me show you how soldiers do it."

"Are you calling me a soldier?" Merlin teased.

"Clearly a terrible one," Arthur answered, but he maneuvered them around the bedpost, up against the edge of the bed. Merlin felt Arthur hook his fingers in Merlin's trousers a split second before he tugged firmly with one hand and pushed with the other, stripping him off neatly. Merlin tumbled backwards onto the thick heap of blankets and furs on the king's bed. A second later Arthur joined him, all bright perfect skin and messy hair.

"How much do you love Camelot?" Arthur asked, kissing his way down Merlin's chest. Merlin wasn't certain where any of this was going, but in this instance Arthur was pretty much the resident expert. Merlin's experience was limited to hasty interludes with a couple of village girls before he'd left Ealdor and one or two lower town women in Camelot -- never frequently or for very long. He hadn't had the time.

"To my death," Merlin said, and felt Arthur's fingers tighten on his hips. "Hopefully no time soon," he added, and Arthur laughed against his hip.

"I am the king," Arthur said. Merlin couldn't help it; his hips bucked up against Arthur's hands. "I am Camelot."

"That is -- that is -- " Merlin tried for _that is the tradition_ but Arthur actually had his head bent over Merlin's cock and he wasn't, really, no he wasn't going to...

Merlin's back arched, eyes rolling up a little in his head as Arthur took him in his mouth. He couldn't breathe. This was _brilliant_.

"A -- Ar...thur..." he groaned, drawing the syllables out, and felt Arthur laugh, felt the vibrations in his throat. It was too much and it had been far too long and he wasn't sure what would happen if -- "Come here, come up, no, stop, you have to," he babbled, and Arthur raised his face, a faint line of worry creasing his forehead. His lips, Merlin couldn't stop staring at his lips. Merlin tugged on his hair and Arthur went, settling himself between Merlin's legs, oh, that was pretty good too. In fact, in the moment, and blinded to Arthur's usual flaws by the fact that they were both naked, Merlin felt Arthur was quite possibly the best thing he'd ever encountered.

"Hello," Arthur said, propping himself on his elbows on either side of Merlin's shoulders.

"Hi," Merlin answered, daringly running his thumb along Arthur's lower lip. Arthur twisted his hips and their cocks rubbed together; Merlin moaned, which seemed to encourage him to do it again. Rational thought fled; he just kept shifting, pushing against Arthur, nuzzling Arthur's hair as Arthur kissed his neck and talked into his skin -- did the man never cease talking? -- mumbled words Merlin barely heard and couldn't have paid attention to if he wanted. This was so good, better than magic even, and Merlin wanted it to go on forever even as he felt himself dancing along the edge. He gripped Arthur's shoulder tightly, his other hand scrambling at his hip for purchase, to slow him down, but Arthur just kept relentlessly thrusting against him until Merlin gave up even pretending he was in control of this and came against Arthur's stomach, a cry caught in his throat.

Arthur raised his head and kissed him, thrust a few more times with almost indolent pleasure before he stiffened and shuddered and collapsed. Merlin, panting for breath, stared at the bed's drapery and tried to form words. Arthur was heavy and almost uncomfortably warm, but he still made a little noise of protest when Arthur eased off him and slid down to the blankets, lying on his side to stare at Merlin with disconcerting focus.

"That was _brilliant_ ," Merlin said, finally. Arthur huffed a laugh and rubbed his knuckles against Merlin's chest.

"There's better," he said, kissing his shoulder. "I'll show you."

"Now?" Merlin asked in alarm.

"No, idiot," Arthur replied. "Now you find me a clean rag, and then we sleep."

Merlin made sure Arthur was looking him in the eye, then said, " _Onábýwan manns_."

Arthur seemed fascinated by the way his eyes glowed, but as soon as they faded he looked down, running a hand over Merlin's newly-clean skin, then over his own.

"Handy," he said. Merlin smiled. Arthur, apparently not one for basking overmuch, rolled off the bed and shoved Merlin off the other direction, pulling back the blankets and sliding in. "Well, come on. _Someone_ didn't light the fire early enough, you'll catch your death of cold wandering round naked like that."

Merlin crawled under the blankets, heated more from the inside than the outside, and let Arthur pull him up close, sharing warmth. He thought Arthur would probably just drop off to sleep, but instead he rested his hand on Merlin's chest and, after a while, began to speak. It was rubbish at first, Arthur's usual blithering of an evening; sometimes he'd sit in the antechamber at night and just talk over the day, not really requiring much by way of reply, until he'd narrated it out and sorted it in his mind. Merlin sometimes wondered if Uther had done it too -- and, if so, whether Uther had been forced to do it alone, talking quietly to an empty room.

After a while his tone modulated and Merlin, drowsing, woke his sleepy brain enough to pay attention. Arthur was going over military numbers, the logistics of sending his knights to train the various villages should they need to fight.

"I don't know how to send the troublesome ones away," Arthur admitted. "They won't go out to train commoners, they'd know what I was doing, having away with the need for private armies. You were right, they have served honourably. They deserve their pride."

"Have Odart send them home, back to their own lands," Merlin suggested. Gaius had died two years before, and he still felt a stab in his heart when he spoke of the new court physic. Odart was a perfectly nice, quite wise man of middle age, but Merlin missed Gaius now more than ever. "One or two anyway. Rest amongst their own people would probably do them a world of good."

"Do you think the others will leave when they see new knights coming in?"

"I think they'll understand the ultimatum. And if it's their choice then it's a strategic retreat, not a retirement," Merlin agreed.

"How do I even start to open the knighthood to commoners?" Arthur mused. "Gwaine and Lancelot are a good start, I suppose. Gwaine's the son of a noble, they're both well respected. Hey, what do you think of a tournament?" he asked, pushing himself up on one elbow. "An all-comers tournament, open to local village champions. I could offer a knighthood as a prize. I could take on a few for training along the way if they showed promise. Like it just happened to be something I thought of in the moment."

"Good way to see what kind of talent the lower villages can offer," Merlin said. "Plus everyone loves a good brawl."

"This is the knighthood, Merlin, not a wrestling match in the town square," Arthur said sternly.

"Much of a sameness in the end, though," Merlin replied. Arthur cuffed his head affectionately. "You can't now, anyway, there's the harvest on and they can't spare anyone. Hold one for the equinox, after all the grain's been taken in for the winter. That'll give the losers all winter locked up inside to practice their fighting."

"And another in the spring," Arthur said. "That would work. Hm, you're not a complete idiot when you put your mind to it," he added, and kissed Merlin's temple. "Someone ought to make you court advisor."

"The position's been filled," Merlin replied. Arthur settled in again, but he didn't stop staring at Merlin. "What?"

"Well, the best proof is you, isn't it?" Arthur said softly. "A farm boy from Ealdor, advisor to the king."

"I have a few other talents to recommend me," Merlin replied.

"When I'm done with you, you'll have a few more," Arthur promised. He closed his eyes and exhaled against Merlin's shoulder. "We should sleep. Tomorrow you need to start planning the tournament."

"My life to serve," Merlin drawled, but he rested his head against Arthur's, and closed his eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

Those were brilliant days, the autumn of that year; Merlin found to his surprise that most of the knights favoured a tournament open to the commoners as something of a novelty. With the most troublesome elder knights out of the way, the court was a little less hostile to his machinations. At night he and Arthur still sat and talked in the antechamber, while Merlin tidied and lit the fires and attended Arthur's boots, but when they'd finished talking there was Arthur's bed. The things Arthur had learned from soldiers would make a camp-follower blush. There was a strangeness to it, the desire of a man who'd spent his life in the company of men, but Merlin liked Arthur all the better for being a bit strange, and anyway he reaped the rewards.

A few weeks before the equinox, Merlin recruited the newly-knighted (and rather uneasy about it) Sir Gwaine as a bodyguard and began making plans. Arthur, sullen, hovered in the background while he packed his saddlebags.

"I'll be gone for two weeks at the outside," Merlin reminded him, as he stowed a few rolls of vellum and a pot of ink amongst his shirts.

"And what do I do if I need your advice?" Arthur demanded, crossing his arms.

"Oh, are you admitting you need my advice?" Merlin asked, grinning over his shoulder at him.

"Well, there's a first time for everything."

Merlin turned and tugged on Arthur's collar, pulling him in for a kiss. "You are the king. If you can't rule wisely for two weeks, you're not the king I thought you were."

"Maybe I don't want to rule wisely. Thinking is your job," Arthur replied.

"It'll be good for you. Character-building," Merlin reminded him. "Look, someone has to _tell_ your devoted subjects about the tournament, or nobody will come. I need to get the lay of the land anyway, and I can bring back good information to help you rule. Gwaine will protect me."

"See that he doesn't protect his way right into your bedroll," Arthur scowled.

"Gwaine? Are you kidding me?" Merlin laughed. "He's not interested, trust me."

"He's a soldier."

"He's your knight. Even if he fancied men, he wouldn't presume on the body of the king's head servant."

"Advisor."

"Eh..." Merlin waggled a hand, indicating the difference was negligible. "Stop fretting, Arthur. Be a good king. I'll be back soon."

"See that you are," Arthur said seriously, and Merlin -- who was a magnanimous man -- allowed himself to be distracted from packing for half an hour.

The next morning he and Gwaine rode out of the castle, down into the town where they already had news of the tournament, where children ran after Merlin's horse to see if they could touch the stirrups of Camelot's warlock and the bigger boys and girls eyed Gwaine's cloak and sword enviously. They stopped only to buy some provisions in the market, and by mid-day were on the high road through the plains, heading for the nearest villages as the court's messengers.

Outside of the castle and the town, Merlin didn't give his name, because he found people spoke more easily if they were speaking to someone they thought was a knight's servant, not the king's man. He could ask about raiding parties and farmholdings and the needs of the villages without any trouble. Gwaine drew attention as a knight, but that wasn't necessarily a bad thing; often it meant word raced ahead of them and they would ride into a village to find the local chief or the tavern-owner waiting to offer them hospitality for the night. It was easy to draw a crowd for the announcement, and Gwaine could test what kind of soldiers or knights each village might provide.

Camelot was prosperous, and lovely even in the dying autumn. Merlin knew he would always think of himself as a boy from Ealdor, but he was also a man of Camelot and could take pride too in Camelot and its king. In some places, at the far reaches of the kingdom, the old ways had never really died out and that was good to see, too: the leaf-faces carved into trees, the men made of straw waiting to be burned at the harvest festival, the sheela-na-gig etched crudely into a boulder at the entryway to one of the border towns.

"What is _that?_ " Gwaine asked, pointing at it.

"She's a ward against evil," Merlin said, stopping his horse so Gwaine could examine the boulder.

"Oh, is that what she is," Gwaine drawled.

"Sex is powerful," Merlin said with a shrug. "Especially out here."

"My kind of place," Gwaine said, and spurred his horse onwards. "Come on, Merlin, keep up or get left behind!"

That was one of their last villages before turning back to Camelot, a three-day ride along an uninhabited old road that left them sleeping on the ground at night and low on food by the time the castle was again in view. By mutual silent consent, once they could see it, they both spurred the horses into a flat-out gallop. They were already days past Merlin's two-week promise.

The sun was setting when they reached the edge of town; they slowed to a walk, to cool the horses, but it was very hard to plod slowly through the evening, up to the castle -- and of course they had to stop to greet people and to accept a certain amount of heroes' welcome home. By the time a stable-boy took their reins in the inner courtyard, Merlin was fighting the urge to run up the steps, through the corridors to the hall where Arthur would be waiting.

He was tired, he was sore from riding, he reeked of horse, and he hadn't bathed properly in nearly a week -- none of which mattered when he and Gwaine walked into the reception hall and he saw Arthur standing there before the throne. Merlin knew Camelot now, felt he knew every inch of it, the people and the fields and forests, and he knew Arthur. Somewhere in his mind the two blurred together, the way he'd always been told they should.

"Sir Gwaine, my lord Merlin," Arthur said, as was right and proper. Gwaine gave him a stiff half-bow. "Welcome home."

Then he came forward, down the steps from the throne and across the stones and he wrapped Merlin in a one-armed hug, following with the same for Gwaine, laughing and pounding them on the back.

"You both stink," he informed them, and gave Merlin an affectionate slap on the shoulder. "Gwaine, I see you brought him home safely."

"Hardly a trial, sire," Gwaine replied.

"I'm glad to hear it. We already have champions arriving for the tournament, so I suppose you both weren't entirely slack in your duties. Gwaine, off to the barracks with you, get some rest. Merlin, my chambers," he said, and Merlin felt a vague thrill run through him. "My boots are in a deplorable state."

"Well, we'll soon have that fixed," Merlin said cheerfully, and Arthur turned him by the shoulder and pushed him off towards his room -- their rooms -- hopefully towards a hot bath and a good meal.

And...Gwen?

Merlin was tired enough that when he saw Gwen standing outside Arthur's antechamber, he just blinked in confusion; she threw herself into his arms and hugged him tightly, whispering in his ear how much she'd missed him, how miserable and cranky Arthur had been, how glad she was that he was home safely. He let her pull him inside and oh -- an entire full bath of steaming water was set by the fire, and there was fruit and bread and meat on the table.

"You didn't have to do all this," Merlin said.

"I wanted to," she said, squeezing his hand, and Merlin felt like an ass. He hadn't been _avoiding_ her, in the time since he and Arthur had begun sharing a bed, but he'd simply...not been around her as much. "Besides, once you've cleaned up and had some food, you and I need to have a talk about Arthur."

Merlin stiffened. "What about him?"

Gwen turned, saw his expression, and smiled.

"Good things only, I swear," she said, and rested a hand on his cheek. "You'll see. Only good things," and she kissed him. Not a friendly kiss on the forehead or a sisterly peck but a real proper kiss, a kiss with a sort of promise in it.

He watched her go, utterly bewildered but really too exhausted to care. He had done his duty, and young commoners were pouring into Camelot already to compete for the right to a knighthood in a few days' time. Arthur was happy to see him, and he would take Gwen at her word that good things were in the offing. He undressed with clumsy fingers, eased himself into the bath, and closed his eyes.

***

The tournament, it had to be said, did have a certain element of brawling to it. The common boys (and a few common girls) were not trained in swordcraft, or anyway not very much, and when swords were down they'd use their fists, which tended to throw the nobility off guard. Arthur thought it was funny; Gwen, sitting at his left hand, occasionally called for the sergeants-at-arms to separate two would-be knights long enough for them to recover their swords and fight the proper way. Merlin, who knew where the best seats for this kind of thing were, didn't bother with the tournament until it was in its last stages, when Arthur would be fighting, and then he watched from the edge of the stands, half-hidden, whenever he wasn't called by Arthur to help him with his armor.

Arthur's participation was partial and strategic, more of an exhibition than a competition since against these inexperienced fighters it was cruelty to put himself in the running for the championship. He just thinned the ranks a little, and then left the last four knights -- one noble, three commoners -- to fight amongst themselves. The winner was a young farm boy named Elred, but Merlin only heard this second-hand; he was busy preparing the following day's feast.

What happened next was an accident. It really was, no matter what Arthur might have to say on the matter. It was late, and Merlin was only looking for a quiet place to polish Arthur's dress armor.

As the king's servant he knew every inch of the castle and all its doings, but he'd forgotten about young Elred and the vigil he was supposed to sit in the castle chapel. Aside from Arthur, knights were more or less irrelevant to Merlin. He'd been told that Elred would be given a knighthood if he sat vigil until the following morning, but the information had mostly gone past him.

He was halfway to the altar steps, which were the perfect height for sitting and polishing on, when he noticed the young man kneeling in front of them. Merlin had long since grown out of his youthful rangy gawkishness, but the sight startled him and he dropped Arthur's breastplate with a clank.

"Oh! Sorry," he said, as Elred raised his head in alarm. "Didn't mean to intrude. Only..." he babbled, as he gathered up the armor, "I've just been looking for a place in the quiet to do a bit of work -- I mean it'll take me all night to get this polished up right, and people _will_ interrupt me. You'd think Camelot didn't exist before I came along," he added, throwing himself down on the steps. Elred watched him warily. "You don't mind, do you? I could use a bit of company."

"No," Elred said slowly. "I don't mind."

"D'you want to help? I would love a second pair of hands," Merlin continued, offering him a rag and one of Arthur's greaves. "Come on up, you'll take a cramp if you're there all night and then where will you be in the morning?"

"I don't know if I ought to," Elred said. "I'm supposed to be sitting vigil."

"Well, I don't see why you can't do it comfortably. Come on," Merlin told him, patting the step. Reluctantly, Elred straightened, stretched, and lowered himself down next to Merlin. "Going to be a knight then? Who's your family?"

"Oh, nobody," Elred said, reddening.

"Yeah, mine's about the same. Still, you've done all right for yourself, eh? You'll get a coat of arms and all. Parents living?"

"Yes, sir."

Merlin laughed. "Don't need to call me sir, I'm just a servant. Here you go," he added, offering the jar of polish. Elred scooped some out and began rubbing it into Arthur's greave. "That's the stuff. Bet your mum's dead proud, eh? She coming to the ceremony tomorrow?"

"She's fit to bursting," Elred confided. "Her son, a knight of Camelot! I mean, who'd reckon it. Not under old Uther -- bless him and may he rest in peace," he added hurriedly.

"Well, I'm sure Uther did the best he could," Merlin said, though he didn't bother to hide his scorn of Uther's best. "And he brought up a pretty good king."

"King Arthur's brilliant," Elred agreed. "Have you ever seen someone use a sword the way he does?"

"No," Merlin replied. He smiled. "What do you think of the rest of the court?"

"Well, I dunno, they seem alright. I haven't met many yet; I only got here just in time for the tournament, so I haven't seen much other than the armory and stands. I reckon I will tomorrow. Do you know this bloke, the king's advisor?" Elred asked. "Merlin? I was told he was important but he didn't come to the tourney."

Merlin made a quick decision as he bent to polish Arthur's breastplate. It was rare for him to feel anonymous in the castle anymore, and he ought to make the most of it, as he had when he and Gwaine had ridden the borders. "Busy helping dress the king and such, I expect. It's a big job, running things around here."

"Well, they say he's got the king's ear, and he's behind all this reform on magic. It's a bit strange, you know. What if he's listening in on us right now?"

"How would he do that?" Merlin asked, widening his eyes.

"With one of those crystal thingums. Or some kind of bubbling potion he looks into. You never know."

"Best watch what you say, then," Merlin advised, keeping his tone even as he dabbed more polish out of the jar.

"Oh, I'm not afraid of him," Elred announced.

"No?" Merlin asked, vastly amused, expecting a youthful boast of strength and fearlessness.

"I figure if Arthur listens to him he must be all right. I'd just like to see him, that's all," Elred said. Merlin looked at him, surprised, and then smiled.

"I'm sure you'll run into him sooner or later," Merlin said. "Now, mind your polishing there, don't want any stuck in the hinges. It's a bugger to get out, polish in the hinges."

"Right you are," Elred said, and bent studiously to his work.

***

The next morning, Elred stood proudly in the reception hall of Camelot, in front of his king and the assembled leaders of Arthur's court, including Arthur's betrothed. The Lady Guinevere had been very kind to him, when he'd come off the tourney field after winning.

"D'you know," King Arthur said, in that way he had that made him seem more like an engaging boy and less like the king, "I always thought the vigil was a bit pointless. I'm thinking of dropping it. All it does is make one tired and cramped. Did you find it useful, Elred?"

Elred considered this. "Yes, actually, I think I did, Sire," he said thoughtfully.

"In what way?"

"Well, Sire, I had a vision," Elred announced. A few people snickered, but Elred's mum was watching him like she'd never seen anything so wonderful in her life. She'd always had just a dab of the second sight, and that wasn't illegal anymore, so he pressed on. "Sire, while I was sitting vigil a man came in and spoke to me."

Arthur half-smiled. "Are you sure you didn't fall asleep, young Elred?"

"Quite sure, Sire; it was very real."

"Very well. Stranger things have happened," King Arthur said, sitting forward. "What did this man say to you?"

Elred shifted nervously. "He asked if I'd help polish some armor, Sire."

There was a long silence in the room.

"And did you?" King Arthur inquired.

"Well, it seemed a shame to just sit there while he did all the work," Elred reasoned.

"Very courteous of you," King Arthur said, sitting back. "So you helped him polish some armor?"

"Yes, Sire."

"And then?"

"Well, and then he told me to be a credit to my parents and my king and he went off again with the armor, Sire."

To his surprise, the king's laughter wasn't mocking or cruel; it was genuine, pleased, almost delighted. Elred risked a smile.

"Merlin, are you skulking?" King Arthur called. "Someone send for Merlin."

There was a rustle and a commotion in the back, and then a man emerged from a side hallway, hurrying up to the throne. Among the brocades and furs of the court he looked out of place, almost rustic in a pair of hardwearing brown trousers and a plain blue shirt.

"Look, I've a feast to oversee, so this had better be good," the man said, crossing his arms, and Elred started. It was the man from his vision -- short-cropped hair, fine features, and the same good-natured voice that had urged him to have a care with the hinges. Oh, bollocks, he'd sauced Merlin, the right hand of the king. "Haven't you finished yet?"

"Elred, is this the man you saw in your vision?" King Arthur asked, slinging a companionable arm around Merlin's shoulders and turning him. Elred saw Merlin swallow and cast a guilty look at the king.

"No, Sire," Elred said staunchly, because knight or not, one didn't rat on a mate. "Quite another man, Sire."

"That's odd. Isn't that odd, Merlin? Because I'm nearly positive I asked you to be sure my armor was polished," King Arthur said, patting Merlin on the chest. "And here's Elred claiming someone asked him to help polish some armor last night."

"Well, you know, if you're going to have a vision, a chapel at midnight's the place to have it," Merlin replied.

"Elred, come forward," King Arthur urged. Elred shuffled forward carefully. "Elred, this is Merlin. Merlin, Elred. Elred's going to be my new knight."

"Yes, I know that," Merlin answered with an eyeroll. Apparently the right hand of the king was allowed an enormous degree of insolence. "Otherwise the feast I should _currently be supervising_ is rather a waste."

"Elred, Merlin's an absolutely indispensable part of my court. He knows everything, he sees everything, and when I ask him to see to my dress armor I generally _intend_ that he should find some underservant and kick him or her into doing it, rather than do it himself, even with the help of my newest knight," King Arthur continued, gripping Merlin's neck rather tightly and giving him a gentle shake. "Because I don't want my closest advisor doing menial chores when he should be thinking deep and meaningful thoughts to guide me as king."

Elred realised this was a much bigger...something, this was simply much bigger than he was. He kept quiet.

"Pleased to meet you," Merlin told Elred.

"Likewise, m'lord," Elred replied.

"Now that we've made everything _most_ clear, you, go keep the cooks from setting anything on fire," King Arthur told Merlin, and gave him an affectionate but very strong shove. Merlin stumbled away, rolled his eyes again, and vanished behind some drapery. "You, Elred, kneel."

Elred knelt and bowed his head.

His thoughts were in such a state over this problem of Merlin and the polished armor that he barely registered the knighting or his triumphant procession from the reception hall or introducing his mum and dad to the King; he barely remembered much of anything until he was seated with the other knights at the feast and Merlin appeared again, carrying a cup of wine.

"Compliments of His Majesty," he said, presenting it to Elred. "Though it's got a dye in it that'll turn your tongue black, fair warning. Arthur's a bit of a practical joker on the new boy. Try to act surprised, it's traditional."

"Thank you," Elred said, accepting the cup. "Listen, about last night, I didn't realise -- "

Merlin gave him a kind smile. "People usually don't, at first. For the record, I think you'll be a brilliant knight."

"Why?" Elred asked, confused. "You've not seen me fight."

"Because you love your king, and you don't fear me," Merlin told him. "Go on, drink up."

***

The king's wedding the following summer was a strange affair. Gwen was the first commoner in living memory to marry a king, without title or wealth, with barely anything to her name. She was called the queen of the lower towns -- derisively by some, but with deep love and pride by the townsfolk themselves.

The morning she and Arthur were to be married, Merlin hurried her out of the castle, onto a horse and down into the village. The people of the castle's lower town took her to the outskirts and dressed the horse in ribbons, dressing Gwen herself in May blossoms and the finest linen Camelot had been able to bargain for from across the sea. They threw grain under the feet of the mare as she carried her back up to the castle, Merlin leading her by the reins. Gwen laughed in bewildered pleasure at it all, as big sturdy farmers who had brought her father their horses to be shod bore torches ahead of her in the dawn.

When they reached the castle, just past sunrise, the men and women banged on the gates and shouted and catcalled until the enormous wooden doors swung open. On the other side, Arthur's honour guard -- the men who sat at the new, big round table in his ruling-hall -- were arranged before their king, and Arthur looked at once terrified and elated.

"Sire," Merlin said, grinning. "There's a lady here to see you."

More catcalls.

"Well, you had better bring her inside, then," Arthur replied, and the knights moved aside as Merlin led her horse up to where Arthur stood. Gwen slid out of the saddle, her face lit up with joy. Merlin watched her go to Arthur, watched his arm slide around her waist to lead her up to the reception hall where that old bastard Geoffrey was waiting to handfast them. The knights about-faced sharply to follow, and behind them the people of the village surged through as well. Merlin merely swung up on the horse, clicked his tongue softly, and walked her quietly to the stable.

He worked carefully, feeding her handfuls of oats as he unbraided the ribbons from her mane and tail. He curried her, as he had Arthur's horse too many times to count, as he had his own horse if it came to that. He talked to her in the old language as he worked, telling her what a good job she had done, carrying the queen along and never once starting even when the children ran underfoot. He picked her hooves, poured out a bucket of water for her, and left her nodding over her oats in the stall.

Out beyond the stable, he could hear bells ringing. A nice short ceremony. All to the good.

The kitchens had been in an uproar for days -- none knew it better than Merlin -- but he was confident the wedding breakfast would be laid neatly without his help. He washed under a pump in the yard and then walked up to the banquet hall. They'd be there all day; there would be speeches and entertainment and endless toasts, and half a dozen kings from the lands surrounding Camelot had come to present themselves and their gifts to the young king and his new queen. Merlin had met most of them already and seen that they were comfortably housed; his network of spies amongst the servants assured him none of the visiting royalty harboured the slightest ill intentions towards the happy couple. Even if they did, Elred and Lancelot were on duty and would be certain no one harmed them.

Merlin leaned in the shadow of a doorway, watching the feast, damp hair dripping onto the collar of his new shirt. He wasn't much one for robes and things (they only got in the way) but he'd found a fine red tunic embroidered with the Pendragon arms in gold on his bed the night before. A gift from Arthur, perhaps, though more likely one of the household women had made it for him.

Arthur and Gwen seemed completely happy, and why shouldn't they be? They were so beautiful together that it often took his breath away. Gwen still had the May blossoms in her hair, crushed only slightly by the delicate red-gold crown that Arthur had given her as her wedding gift. Arthur, damn him, had _not_ remembered to brush his hair like Merlin had made him promise he would do, and it wisped out under his crown a little. Still, he was a handsome king.

He meant to turn and go -- he wouldn't be required until well into the afternoon, and he had duties to attend to -- but as he pushed off from the wall Arthur saw him and shouted, "MERLIN!"

Merlin sighed, turned back to the feast, and ducked through the doorway with a ready smile on his face. "You called, sire?"

"Here, come here," Arthur commanded. Merlin rolled his eyes and crossed the banquet hall. Gwaine pelted him with a bit of bread as he passed, then gave him a solemn wink.

" -- do me all honour," Arthur was saying, as Merlin reached the high table. He was talking to a severe-looking man in grey robes, with a hideous medallion of office on his chest. "Ah, here he is. My Lord Cynan, this is my advisor, Merlin. Merlin, this is King -- "

"Cynan of the southeast, we met yesterday, sire," Merlin said, bowing. "How did you find your rooms?"

"Absolutely ideal," King Cynan replied. "I must say you know how to make one at home in Camelot."

"Well, we can't have the king's guests going wanting," Merlin replied.

"Nor the king's own people," Arthur interrupted, and held out his hand to Cynan, who drew a flat box from his voluminous robes and handed it to him. "When I sent our messengers to the southeast, I commissioned something from the metalworkers there, to be brought back as a gift. Gwen?" he added, offering her the box. She took it and flicked the latch, lifting out a heavy-looking crown -- no, a torc, the ends of the thick, twisted gold circlet open and capped with delicately-wrought dragon's heads.

"It's a very pretty decoration, for a very lovely queen," Merlin said loyally. Arthur gave him a look that told him he was inadvertently being dim.

"Bow your head, Merlin," Gwen said. Merlin stared at her. "Go on, it won't bite."

Merlin shuffled a little closer to her and bent at the waist, presenting the back of his neck across the table. The metal was cool against his skin; the two dragon's heads pressed tightly, sliding along until his skin was free again and the torc rested around his throat, dragons against his collarbones. Merlin inhaled sharply.

"We'll see you tonight," Gwen said in his ear.

He had known this would be hard, seeing the whole kingdom celebrate Arthur and Gwen's handfasting when no one would ever, could ever, celebrate Merlin's place with them. He loved them both dearly but he was not above jealousy, and he had hoped he could simply escape this day, once his duties were discharged, and wait for them in Arthur's chambers -- now Arthur and Gwen's chambers, he supposed. He knew it didn't matter to them, he knew it changed nothing between the three of them, but it mattered to him, that his king and queen couldn't be shown the full measure of his devotion.

And in one stupid sweeping gesture, Arthur had given him a crown and Gwen had put it around his throat and everyone in the kingdom would know, even if they wouldn't _know_. 

He touched the open mouth of one of the dragons as he straightened. He wondered what it made him. A Prince Consort, perhaps, he thought with a smirk.

"Thank you, Arth -- thank you sire," Merlin said, one hand still touching the dragon's head. Arthur was looking at him hungrily, Gwen no less so. "My king, my lady. If you'll excuse me, I have duties to attend to -- "

"No rest for the wizard," Arthur said. Merlin groaned.

"Really? That one _again?_ " he asked.

"Go on then," Arthur waved a hand dismissively. Merlin smiled, turned smartly on his heel, and walked out of the banquet hall, past the servants and revellers, past the whole court who had all seen Gwen put the torc around his throat.

***

After Lancelot and Gwaine, who were unorthodox but not precisely unknown, Elred was the first young commoner to join Arthur's elite knights. He was not by far the last. Merlin thought he'd turned out all right, but sometimes there was no telling the character of commoner _or_ noble, and strength of arms was not enough for anyone joining the king's guard.

So at first he contrived to be there when they sat vigil, sweeping the chapel or passing through on the excuse that he'd heard a noise. After a while he didn't bother with excuses; he just came in and gave the young would-be knight whatever test he thought was appropriate. Sometimes he had them help him with some little chore he had to do, chatting companionably with them as they worked. Other times he just talked for a bit, and sometimes if he wasn't sure about them he'd sit and stare until they spoke first. It was a sort of rite, acknowledged among those who'd passed but never really talked about. They certainly didn't warn the new prospects that the vigil, an old and silly tradition, was now their final test. To be a knight, you had to stand out from the crowd and you had to fight Arthur (you didn't have to win; nobody ever did). And you had to get past Merlin.

Most of them gave him no trouble; they were earnest idealists, or they wouldn't have bothered to try for Arthur's court. Still, occasionally there were failures. One of them tried to throw him out of the chapel and gave him a black eye before Merlin cracked him on the head; the black eye cost the man his knighthood and Arthur was barely prevented from ejecting him from Camelot personally. A couple of them who were insolent to Merlin got stern warnings from their king about respect, before they were knighted. One had asked Merlin to bring him a meal -- well, ordered more than asked, with such high-handed bad manners that Merlin said yes, of course, and then vanished and didn't return. That one was told he could be a knight if he was a servant for half a year first, and he'd stormed out furiously.

There were triumphs too, however. One young valiant, the first woman to be accepted by trial of arms, asked him for a kiss. Merlin obliged, and liked her well enough that he later presented her with a very serviceable sword as a knighthood gift. An oxlike man solemnly confided in Merlin that he'd borrowed his brother's horse just to get to Camelot, and Arthur sent Merlin riding out a few days later with a new young stallion for his brother's stable. Merlin sat and talked politics with the sons of distant kings, and listened to the daughters of farmers explain to him how they'd grown up wielding scythes instead of swords, and how it really wasn't so different in the end. Some of the awkward young warriors made him laugh, remembering how awestruck and terrified he himself had been the first time he'd seen the castle's high spires.

Everyone knew about the test, once they'd passed it. Merlin would go and see what he thought of the new blood, and then when he was done he'd speak to the king. If you were quick, you might see him hurrying from the chapel up to the king's chambers to make his report.

***

"Good evening, Merlin," Gwen sang out from the bed, when the big inner chamber doors creaked and Merlin crept in, well past midnight. "You've been out late."

"Milady," Merlin answered, bending to give her a kiss while he pulled off his boots. He undressed hastily as he circled the bed, sliding under the covers next to Arthur.

"Your feet are _freezing_ , you limpet," Arthur announced, but he didn't bother with more than a cursory attempt to fend off Merlin as he curled up around him for warmth. "I should have you fetch the bedwarmer."

"Why? Already got one," Merlin said, burrowing into the blankets and pressing his nose against Arthur's arm.

"Cold!" Arthur grunted.

"Don't listen to him," Gwen said, rolling over so that she and Merlin could have a conference across the king's chest. "So? How was our latest knight-to-be?"

"Oh, likely, very likely," Merlin told her, as Arthur blew out a breath of frustrated resignation and wrapped an arm around Gwen, tangling his other hand in Merlin's short hair.

"Do I get any say at all in affairs of state?" Arthur asked.

"Of course, my king," Merlin answered innocently, then turned back to Gwen. "He's a nice boy. Bit on the dim side but they can't all be geniuses. He's completely in awe of Arthur, but that'll pass."

"Excuse me," Arthur drawled.

"It usually does," Gwen said, grinning. "So you think he's all right."

"Oh, sure. He said he thinks you're a lovely queen, too."

"So I am," Gwen grinned and rubbed her cheek against Arthur's chest. "Settled then, he's in."

"Yes, certainly." Merlin glanced up at Arthur. "With my lord's approval, of course."

"Much as it pains me to say it," Arthur said, looking up at the hangings above the bed, "I could never deny you anything, Merlin."

"He's adorable," Gwen told Merlin, who nodded and kissed Arthur's chest before disposing himself to sleep. Gwen rearranged herself so that her head was on a pillow again, Arthur's arm still around her, and closed her eyes.

Merlin was almost unconscious, warm and comfortable, when he felt Arthur's hand move in his hair, Arthur's chest rise with an inhale to speak.

"My wisest one," Arthur said softly. Merlin carefully didn't move. Arthur, at any other time, was all acid tongue and short tolerance, though Merlin had grown to ignore that. It was only here -- and only once in a very long while, when he thought Merlin was asleep -- that Arthur would be softer. Less a king, less his father's son, more the smart, compassionate man he'd never admit to being. "My brilliant, strange Merlin. I could not be king without you."

Merlin carefully hid a smile, something he was very adept at around his king. He let himself drift off with his head still resting against Arthur's chest, over his heart.


End file.
